PTSD
by Comet Stryke
Summary: No matter how strong the mind, one can only take so much. While his friends have faced their own personal demons, Sly Cooper has not. His sanity begins to slip as he loses control of his own mind, lost to terrors in it. In a manner of speaking, there may be more influences in his chaos-filled head than even he knows. Rated T for language.
1. Pain I

He sucked in a shaky breath, not believing his luck. Today, of all days, Carmelita ambushed him with half of her squad while he was making his route in Paris. Or, was supposed to.

After stealing several donuts and a cup of coffee from a local back alley crime lord, he'd settled into a highly needed sleep, startled awake by his name being shouted. Granted, it probably was best to check which building he had stopped to nap on.

He held his breath as he heard footsteps run by, then Carmelita's voice, "Find him! He dared to sleep on the roof of headquarters, did he? _Why_ weren't there any night patrols?! Boneheads, you _better _find him! If Barkley chews my ass for this, I'll take it out on _yours!_"

Grunting, Sly tried pushing himself up. In his haste to escape he would've disappointed Tennessee with the failure of the Rail Slide, but it was probably also due to the lack of coordination from not getting enough sleep.

At the end of the day, he was still lying at the back of an alley way with a broken ankle at least. He'd tumbled down, landing on his front, but when he'd initially fallen he felt his left ankle twist painfully, and he had almost given away his position by crying out.

He managed to get on his knees, moving gingerly to avoid jostling his ankle. With some effort he swung his lower body around so he was sitting up. He winced, feeling sick all of sudden. He'd never had black coffee before, but really it was never good to somersault twenty feet after drinking an entire cup.

Suppressing his gag reflex, he pressed a hand to his ear. "Bentley. Can you hear me?"

Static.

"Of course." The raccoon sighed, pressing his back flat to the wall as a horde of cops ran by the entrance, praying they wouldn't think to look in. After several minutes of silence he decided to get up and move away from Headquarters, albeit cautiously.

His ankle allowed him to move not even a quarter of his normal walk pace, and it took him almost forever to get to the entrance. He peeked out, not seeing any cops on the busy streets, and was making his way cautiously towards the street, on the other side to another network of alley ways. He was on the sidewalk when someone bumped into him roughly. The thief didn't budge and only regarded the stranger with neutral friendliness. "Oh, sorry. I didn't see you there."

"Listen here, skinny britches!" The stranger, who appeared to be a possum, was two heads shorter than Sly but acted two heads taller. He marched up and pointed a finger up in the already agitated thief's face, shaking it, "You better be glad I'm in a rush or else I'd pin your ass down for knocking down a corporate official!"

Sly kept his temper, which as of late hadn't been half of its normal length, taking in a breath to avoid cutting the guy down to size. "Listen, _sir_. I'm sorry for not paying attention. Don't cause a scene, will you?"

"DON'T CAUSE A WHAT?!" The snooty businessman chirped loudly, and literally a half second later of stampeding feet, there was a circle of people surrounding them closely.

Sly's pulse quickened, knowing the cops would be attracted; his eyes darted down the street, and his already upset stomach dropped when he saw a car barreling down the street. He couldn't tell if it belonged to the police, but no need to take the chance. His eyes darted to the other side of the road nervously. His sixth sense was beginning to act up; he had a feeling that he need to get out of there, fast.

"Getting nervous, son?"

Sly glared at the corporate bastard before limping across the road, totally not in the mood for anyone else's bullshit at that moment.

Before he crossed he made sure the car was at a safe distance of about sixty feet away, yet it seemed to be drifting a bit and picking up speed; Seconds later Sly glanced up, already on the other side of the street at that point. He was going into the dark alley way when he was startled to hear tires screeching, people screaming, a crash, then the car roaring off.

He turned slowly, his eyes widened at the scene. The small throng of people were still there but they seemed to have scattered briefly and were now gathering thickly around something, all making exclamations. Despite the risk, Sly's curiosity made him cross the street again, and he pushed his way through the crowd towards the interest spot. Around him people were talking anxiously, fearfully, and the raccoon felt his mood absorbing the energy of the tense environment.

"….you see that, _they just flew_…!"

"_Somebody_, call the damn police!"

"…and an ambulance!"

"…homicide…"

"—**murder**…"

"…don't think he'll make it…"

Sly, already unnerved by the comments he'd heard already, still wasn't prepared for what he saw. What he saw was an aftermath of what he knew was the death trap hurtling down the road mere seconds after he'd left that very spot; he froze, not recognizing the bloody mess that was a body that in front of him. Giant red splatters were on the wall behind the smashed cadaver, which was sitting in a pool in its own life fluid. The raccoon's eyes traveled down, realizing that the deceased victim was wearing a very familiar business suit.

"Oh…my God…"

His legs shook as he backed away, still looking at the stiff, unmoving body. This was his fault; if he'd just been paying attention when he walked out, the man possibly wouldn't have been there as a hit and run victim. Predictably, his stomach was churning like wild now as Sly's anxiousness hit a reach its zenith.

Something even more haunting was the fact that they had been in close proximity. If the raccoon hadn't moved when he did….

Stunned, and barely paying attention to anything else, he made his way police-free back home, all of Interpol rushing to the new scene.

* * *

Bentley's head jerked to the door, away from the TV. He rushed and opened it, seeing Sly standing there leaning on one leg. The turtle went to town, folding his arms and glaring up at a pair of glassy, brown eyes.

"And just where have you been? I just saw on a news report that somebody got murdered by a hit and run about thirty minutes ago!" Bentley's hands waved wildly at the raccoon in anger, "I picked up your comm. signal on the street right where it happened. Interpol-you could've been caught...I thought you…I thought…" Bentley stopped fussing, now noticing the glazed, faraway look in Sly's eyes. "Sly?"

The thief instantaneously turned to the side and vomited onto the ground, clutching his stomach; Bentley jumped back, and then cautiously waited until Sly stopped before inching forward and tugging gently on the royal blue shirt. "Can you move now?"

Sly took in several deep breathes, his chest heaving. He planted his hand on the doorframe and dragged himself in, notably slower than usual. Bentley was puzzled at first when he observed Sly's leg dragging, until he noticed the limp in the raccoon's gait. Waiting until Sly got situated on the couch, he wheeled around and asked, "Sly…what happened?"

The thief felt bile rising in his throat as he recalled and started breathing a bit labored; Bentley took the hint and backed away a little, until Sly finally spoke steadily, "At first I was out making my rounds…then I jacked some food from this bastard who ran this back alley drug trafficking business and fell asleep." Here he paused, waiting for Bentley's reaction. The turtle just sat expectantly, nodding for him to keep going, but his eyebrow raised, knowing excatley why Sly stopped where he did.

The thief rubbed the back of his head, knowing what was coming.

"…well…I kinda fell asleep on top of—"

"—Interpol Headquarters?" Bentley cut in, "Again? What is this, like the 27th time?"

"Twenty sixth." Sly corrected, "But then Carmelita somehow found me like she usually does, and she must've had a really bad night because she almost gangbanged me with the entire squad. So when I tried running away I…slipped trying to do the rail slide technique and ended up eating dirt in an alley way."

"I surmise that explains your ankle?" Bentley asked, gesturing.

"Yep. And so after I waited for several minutes, I tried coming back home without the cops tailing me. I tried contacting you, but I picked up static."

Bentley frowned. "You did? I might need to test the connection between our comm. lines, that's never happened before."

"When I made it to the street, some guy in a suit bumped into me- some ritzy, corporate guy that could've used my shirt as a napkin. Caused a pretty big scene, even after I apologized. I was worried the police would be attracted by the attention, and I couldn't run faster than a snail could crawl, so I had to hightailed it out of there."

Sly blinked twice, and then sighed as he continued. "So I was across the street and I heard a car roaring up then pulling off, a lot of people screaming…I went back over…and I could barley recognize him…."

Bentley's eyes widened, and he sat up straight. "Sly, you're telling me you ran into the guy right before he got hit by the car?"

The raccoon nodded somberly before Bentley sat up straighter, "Wait a minute-you were there with him, right?! Sly, you could've…you could've gotten hit too!"

"Turns out that I did walk away in time. Not that it makes me feel any better…"

"Why's that?"

The raccoon sighed. "If I'd just watched where I was going he might not have been there to get hit. He might still be…alive. Like me…"

Bentley placed his hands on Sly's knees, looking him in the eye. "Sly, you can't blame yourself for this. Not only that, you almost got hit too! I'm more concerned about you than some jerk who could've avoided his own death had he not kept you both in the same spot for so long! And you weren't driving the car. It's not your fault! You just happened to be in the wrong place—"

"—at the wrong time. Yeah, I think I noticed. " Sly muttered bitterly, getting up and limping to the bathroom. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'll enjoy another sleepless night."

Bentley tilted his head, "Why aren't you getting your sleep?"

"You try having nightmares from Hell every time you close your eyes." Sly answered grimly, and the door closed behind him.

* * *

"Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding."

-Khalil Gibran


	2. Fury I

"Sly, I'm sorry! I didn't mean—AUUGH!"

Ducking, Bentley just managed to avoid a harshly thrown ancestral cane. It embedded itself in the wall just as Murray entered, and the hippo's eyes cut down to the vibrating stick in the wall and looked up at his friends.

"Hey, you two are making an awful lot of—" Murray paused, now noticing a different air to his friends. It became apparent something was wrong as hell when he barely had time to dodge a flung object that shattered on the wall, spraying glass over him but luckily not hard enough to cut him. Terrified, he looked up at Sly. "Little buddy….?"

An enraged scream tore from the raccoon's mouth, and he furiously pounded his fist into the wall with a crash, smashing through it and making a sizable hole. His eyes were dilated and his teeth flashed as he bellowed, "DON'T! CALL! ME! THAT!"

Murray flinched, slightly hurt by his friend's screaming. Gathering up courage, Bentley spoke, "Sly, you need to calm down, and calm down _now_!" He froze when Sly's furious glare landed on him, and then the raccoon pulled his fist out the wall and started towards him quickly, murder in his eyes. He stopped short over the stationary turtle, towering over him as he pointed a finger in Bentley's face.

"You don't know how it feels, do you? DO YOU?!" The thief screamed angrily, a snarl on his face, "You _DON'T_!"

"Now listen hear, it was an honest mistake on my part! No need to get snippy about it!" Bentley argued back, though deep down he was frightened by Sly's anger. The normally calm and collected thief had finally and suddenly cracked; Bentley had unknowingly set off the powder keg that was Sly's mentality, and now they saw all that the thief had been hiding inside.

"No need to get snippy? Have you_ LOOKED_ in a mirror? That only _proves_ my point!"

"What." Bentley stated evenly.

He tensed as Sly leaned down, poking him roughly, "You. Don't. Know. What. _It's_. Like."

Bentley said nothing, frustrated at his friend's frustration and the fact that he was completely right. He didn't know what _it _was like. And probably never would.

Snorting, Sly rose up and paced around the room, brushing carelessly by his friends at least once with every circle, making them flinch every time. The raccoon's anger couldn't be cut with a knife at that point, and they both knew it, but had no idea what to do to calm him down. Never before had he gotten this angry, or even angry at all to the point where it wasn't subtle.

Something was off though, the turtle noted silently. He hadn't expected Sly to just suddenly blow up without any warning. It had shocked and frightened him—one minute they were sitting down and talking, and literally the next minute, he was dodging thrown objects. It was abnormal as all get out, which led the turtle to come to the conclusion that Sly had been harboring pent up emotions in side of him for quite a long time. For whatever reason,( he now had a definite idea, given he was indirectly the cause of the sudden whiplash in the mood) it did not stir well with Sly's psyche.

Eventually the raccoon stopped his restless pacing, halting abruptly in the center of the room. He lifted his head to the air, as if searching for a scent, then suddenly turned in a 180 to give an unrecognizable glare at Murray, who responded with a hopefully defiant face. "Sly?" The hippo tried cautiously, "What's the matter?"

For a second Sly didn't budge, then a smile broke out on his face and he began chortling, shaking his head. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he turned away. "What's the matter, he asks. What are you going to ask me next? How I keep my baby maker hidden?"

Bentley frowned at Sly's distasteful answer, meanwhile Murray tried again, "Sly, come on. Something's bothering you, but you won't let us—"

"ASK HIM!" The raccoon bellowed, aggressively pointing a finger at Bentley, who by now was now getting very annoyed by how they were being treated, "Ask the smart guy, he'll know the answer. He knows almost EVERYTHING—except the consideration for my feelings!"

Murray shot the agitated turtle a puzzled looked just as Bentley countered back, "_I_ don't know your feelings? You never_ SHOW_ any of your feelings! You're too prideful to show your mushy gushy emotions on the inside!"

Though initially startled, he stood his ground as Sly roared up, looking angrier than they'd ever seen him. Bentley almost couldn't see his friend under the mask of anger, the fury and the scarily obvious hatred burning in his eyes.

"You might want to keep your mouth shut. _Pal._" Sly said, his mouth barley moving as he ground out his words through his teeth.

"_You _might want to have a reality check. Pal." Bentley countered back, and that did.

Clenching his fists, the raccoon threw his head skyward and gave a dreadful cry towards the heavens. Murray and Bentley cringed at the almost ethereal noise, both now regretting the turtle's unceremonious prying.

Sly closed his mouth and stopped, breathing furiously and looking around in blind anger before seizing the glass pane from the coffee table and hurling against the wall, breaking it and sending glass pelting across the room. He didn't miss a beat and grabbed the table and holding it high above his head, screaming furiously the entire time.

"Bentley, watch it!" Murray grabbed his friend and pulled him to safety a second before the table smashed into the couch, breaking off one of its legs. In his blind fit of anger, Sly's friends were completely forgotten and the raccoon began violently wrecking and smashing anything unfortunate to come into his range of vision.

Murray and Bentley retreated into the hallway, in safe distance but in view of the raccoon.

"Bentley, _please _tell me what the heck just happened." Murray muttered immediately, rubbing his face in his hands.

"I…I…" Bentley sighed, "He mentioned having strange dreams and didn't know what to do about them, and I said it was probably because of his past, you know, and that fact that he didn't really talk to people about how he felt. All of that bottled up inside him, for so long—years, a decade at least. But…I should have seen it. You've noticed how…off he's been these past few weeks right?"

Murray somberly nodded, then flinched as window panes were broken in rapid succession one after another in the living room, "Everything he did seemed forced…and he hasn't been getting his sleep either. Doesn't want to sit down an rest, always wants to be out on a job…I think even Carmelita's noticed something. She caught him sleeping on that job we had in Czech Republic, but I swear she let him get away."

"Oh, when she claimed that her shock pistol ran out of bullets? Yes I remember that. Me and her both know she restocks the magazine every other minute." Bentley folded his arms, "I don't understand though…I never, ever would have expected him to react like that…it's like…something deep inside him took over."

They both heard a grunt and a monstrous crash; cautiously peeking out they saw the couch thrown up against the wall, and they both drew back quickly as Sly turned on the spot, snorting and panting like a certain bison they'd met in the past.

"I see what you mean," Murray said worriedly. "He's the calmest person we've ever met, as a friend and a person. To get this angry…Bentley, I…I'm worried." He bit his tongue, almost saying scared, but worried seemed a better fit to circumstance, "And I don't know what to do…we could try talking, but that won't do a thing."

"Especially right now." Bentley told him, and that was as far as he got.

Hearing a slight sound, both of them turned instinctively, instantly spotting the raccoon bearing quickly down on them with his cane raised. Acting on impulse, Murray landed a forceful blow in the raccoon's stomach, sending him flying and landing on his back in the living room.

"Murray!" Bentley cried, still shocked at Sly's attacking him, then feeling guilty when he saw the look on the hippo's face.

"You know I didn't mean to, Bent," Murray said sadly, but they both tensed as Sly raised up, glaring at them both with bloodlust in his eyes. Completely ignoring his weapon on the floor, the raccoon stood and made his way over quickly; Murray stood, catching Sly's fists in his hands and pushing him back. They barely noticed the sound of a drawstring behind them.

"Sly! Come on, man! We're your friends! Why are you going crazy like this?" Murray tried reasoning, but catching a look at the raccoon's darkened, anger filled eyes told him that his words fell on deaf ears. With a growl, the thief tried forcing his way back but Murray held his ground, both friend's arms shaking as they tried to overpower each other; needless to say, fury drove the raccoon's strength to match his friend's.

Murray caught a small, barley heard noise behind him, then all of a sudden Sly's arms went slack and he mellowed out, looking slightly woozy and definitely less angry. Curious, Murray let him go cautiously, watching him as he staggered back a few paces before collapsing on the floor.

"Bentley, tell me you know what just happened!" Murray cried, going by the fainted raccoon's side. Bentley called irritably, "Of course I know! It took awhile for the effects to kick in because I could only get a clear shot of his legs."

Murray searched, before finding and pulling out the green tinted dart from Sly's leg. He squinted, seeing the empty chamber inside and shaking it. "How long will he be out for?"

"I managed to scrounge up one with a higher potency, so I'd say at least an hour."

Murray sighed, seeing how Sly's brows came together in a frown in his sleep. He looked around, biting his lip. It looked like a tornado had run through their living room. It was difficult finding something that hadn't been broken or damaged. Murray somberly looked down at the raccoon in unrest.

"...what's the matter with you, little buddy?"

* * *

With a sigh, Bentley dropped the rest of the trash bags outside before rolling back into what was left of their living room. Cleaning up had taken them into the wee hours of the morning, something they both didn't want to experience again. Closing the door he settled by Murray, who was half awake, leaning on a broom that was threatening to break any second.

Bentley tapped the wooden stick lightly and it snapped loudly, waking up the startled hippo and almost sending him ungracefully face planting.

"C'mon Murray. It's 4 AM. You need to get in bed already."

"Are we finished? I didn't mean to doze off." Murray asked, rubbing his eyes.

"We did, now it's time for us to get some rest. Before we uh, handle _other_ matters…"

Murray looked up, his breath hitching audibly; Bentley turned, raising an eyebrow at their friend standing at the entrance to the hallway, his head and ears were lowered in shame. Looking up, he regarded them with sorrowful eyes. "….it…it was bad….wasn't it?"

"Yep." Bentley replied casually; Murray stood, and they both averted their eyes from the raccoon.

Sly sighed, looking defeated; Murray cautiously went around him, as if afraid to touch him. "Murray—"

"I need some time alone, buddy." The hippo muttered, not turning around. The door to his room closed, a bit harder than usual, which made the thief feel even worse. He turned, looking down and seeing Bentley right in front of him, arms folded. Sly blanched under the turtle's stare, inching back a bit but knowing he deserved it.

For a minute neither of them spoke. Sly swallowed his discomfort, although avoiding the turtle's gaze.

"Bentley, I…I'm so sorry."

"Yeah, so am I. Sorry that you couldn't recognize us the moment you began to see red."

Sly fell into a guilty silence, and Bentley unfolded his arms and wheeled past him. "You might want to think long and hard about what you did last night. I can't read your mind, Sly. And if you can't control your emotions, DON'T take it out on your friends and your only family."

The raccoon leaned against the wall, hearing Bentley's door slam, the sound reverberating in his head. With a sigh he looked around the living room, noticing that most of their furniture was gone. Some tables, the TV—were those windows broken?

The thief frowned, trying to place his thoughts. He couldn't remember anything from last night but his consciousness had told him something had gone wrong and he was the cause. He knew he'd gotten angry, and he couldn't direct it. That scared and boggled him, not being able to handle his anger.

With sigh he dragged himself out side and flopped down on the ground, hunching over. It was still dark out, and the only light was the moon, as usual.

"I got…angry…" He muttered, massaging his head in his hands then lifting it up, "Why? I never lose my temper like that. So what on earth came over me?" He looked up at the moon, remembering his father's words from long ago.

_Remember Sly, anger is the misplacement of good, healthy energy. You need to have the right type of energy if you want to remain calm and collected. Never let your anger control you._

"That's just it…I couldn't even…think straight!" Sly ran a hand through his hair, staring at the ground, "Like something inside me took over…I can't even…remember what happened."

A chill ran down his spine; remembering the dream he'd had last night. That's where it all started. Where _all_ of his current problems started.

Those damn dreams that kept haunting him.

Especially the ones with…_him_…in them.

"I'm losing my mind...just like you want, right?"


	3. Fear I

"Look, I'm getting really worried about Sly, Bent. He hasn't come out in days."

"Just leave him be," Bentley answered shortly. "If he wants to sit in his room and sulk, then let him. He needs some time by himself." In all truth, it hurt the turtle to say those words, but he was as stubborn as the raccoon was.

"But he really needs our help," Murray argued, placing his hands on the rim of Bentley's computer, and the turtle gave him his attention, "Something's bothering him deep down, and it's hurting him bad."

"We tried doing that before, Murray. What happened?" Bentley spread his hands out, referring to the still almost bare living room. "We needed to pay twenty six grand in property damage, almost. Most of our furniture is leased, you know that right? They don't even offer discounts either!"

"Well, it's different. He's calmer now."

"He was _calm_ before he tried power slamming a table on my head!" Bentley snapped; Murray looked taken back, and the turtle sighed, "Listen, Murray. You can try, but I don't think he's ready to be approached right now. And_ I_ can't. I'm doing some…medical research." From where he was Murray could make out four distinct letters at the top of the search bar, an entire small-print article too strenuous for his eyes to read.

With a nervous sigh, Murray turned and slowly made his way to his other best friend's bedroom. He stood at the door, a bit hesitant to go in now.

He hadn't seen Sly ever since the raccoon exploded on them two days, and he was hoping him checking on him wouldn't end in another violent, Congress-emulated fight.

He knocked on the door quietly. "Sly? Can I come in?"

To his surprise, the door opened at the gentle force, creaking open slightly. Cautiously Murray pushed it open, looking around the room slowly. He didn't see Sly but he saw the window was wide open, curtains blowing in the breeze.

Warning sirens went off in his head and immediately he panicked, "Bentley! _Sly's gone!_"

In an instance Bentley was there next to him, his own eyes searching across the seemingly empty room. They both entered fully, looking around for their friend and hoping he really hadn't run off to who knows where. He hadn't seemed…too _right_ in the head as of late to be roaming freely.

"Man, I don't see him…" Murray scratched his head, lowering the edge of the rug he'd been looking under.

Bentley came out the closet. "He wasn't in there either. I guess he really did…"

They both looked at the window, thinking the same thing. They had no clue where Sly was now, and he had left no note or sign. His cane, backpack, and leg pouch were sitting on his dresser, untouched.

"We don't know how long he's been gone, either." Bentley pulled out his computer, already beginning to tap away, "But, I should be able to trace his comm line to wherever he went."

Murray chewed his tongue, fumbling with his hands and shifting from one foot to the other, waiting impatiently while Bentley worked away at his computer. A few seconds passed and the turtle paused, straightened his glasses. He looked up at Murray impassively.

"What is it? Did you find him?" The hippo urged.

"….well, I tracked the signal and it's positioned somewhere in _here_."

"Whu—huh? How can he be in here? We already searched!"

Regardless of that statement, both friends found themselves looking around, paranoid as all get out.

The thief did have the habitual habit of sneaking up on people and scaring them for his own amusement, (ie. Carmelita).

But in this context it felt more unsettling; being around the ticking time bomb that was their best friend was already a laboring exercise, but it especially didn't sit well with him concealing himself to them and possibly _watching_ them.

They stood on the spot for quite awhile, looking around for any signs of movement, but still seeing no sign of any other life. Bentley glanced at his tracker; the signal was coming north west to their relative position. Raising his head up, he saw something that they hadn't thought to check.

The turtle cleared his throat, a habit he'd picked up when he got nervous, "Murray, check under the bed for me, will you?"

"Under the bed? Oh right! We haven't looked under there, have we?"

Bentley wheeled back a bit, his neck stretching up as Murray kneeled down, grasping the edge of the furniture with his hands and lifting it up.

He wasn't expecting to see a pair widened eyes staring back at him from under the bed.

In the next second, teh bed almost fell as Murray jumped, screaming, and Bentley followed suite, his wheelchair almost hitting the ceiling. In a blink of an eye he went forward quickly, regarding the motionless figure underneath the bed.

"Sly! Hey!"

The thief was lying on his side with his back to the wall, staring ahead at nothingness. He hadn't reacted to anything that had happened in the past few seconds (including the fact the bed almost crashed down on his head), which going by guideline of standard situations, meant something was very wrong.

"Bentley, what's wrong with him?!" Murray yowled, in a panic because he was terrified of the thought that the unresponsive raccoon had kicked the bucket.

"That, I'm trying to figure out right about now!" The turtle said back, and then fell silent when he heard a mumble come from the thief's mouth. He leaned in closer, trying to ignore down the chilling, glassy eyed look Sly wore.

It was an expression of complete dread and paranoia: The raccoon's normally expressive eyes were shrunk down to unmoving pinpoints, dead center in the whites of his enlarged eyes. A sliver of white was seen peeking out from underneath Sly's mouth; no doubt his teeth were clenched hard, judging by his tense jaw line. His arms were wrapped his body, and his legs and tail were drawn up so that he was curled up onto his side in a torpid, almost protective and notably _childlike _position.

After a moment, it came again, and this time Bentley picked up some of what the thief was saying.

"What's he's saying?" Murray plunked his head to the side of Bentley's, "I can barely hear him."

"'She's coming to get me….she's coming to get me.'," Bentley recited, his face a mask of puzzlement.

"Who's 'she'? Not….Carmelita?"

"Mm, I don't think so. But first things first, we need to get him out from under there. You drag him out Murray, and I'll keep the bed up."

"No offense Bent, but he's kind of weirding me out with that…look," Murray let Bentley take a hold of the bed and waved a hand in front of the seemingly comatose raccoon's face, not getting a single reaction. "It's like…he's dead to the world."

"…has no…age…" Sly mumbled, too quietly for his friends to hear; they did, however notice how he pulled into an even tighter ball.

"Sly, we're going to get out from under here." Murray said in the most soothing tone possible, reaching for the raccoon and grasping him by the arm and pulling gently, "C'mon, pal—"

Hell broke loose.

"…!...no, _No_, no!**_ NO!_**" Abruptly the arm Murray had a hold of was yanked back as they heard Sly's voice for the first time in days, a notably unused croak lined with anguish and exhaustion.

Making a brief exclamation of surprise the hippo only pulled on him harder, and the cock eyed raccoon surely broke out of his trance as started to fight back, pulling away, clawing the wall behind him, determined to stay under the bed. As Murray grasped his upper arm, the obstinate thief braced his hands and feet against the ground, putting friction on his side of the struggle.

"Sly, come on! Snap out of it!" Murray grunted, starting to win the tugging match.

Finally the opposite party cracked and the hippo pulled the scrabbling raccoon out and set him on the ground; Sly froze completely, sitting up on his haunches. Murray and Bentley watched him closely but the slightly trembling raccoon merely sat there, his eyes darting in random directions.

"Sly? You there?" The raccoon looked at the turtle with the same wide eyed, terrified look. Bentley came a bit closer, noting how the raccoon inched back slightly. "Sly…"

"Shadows…everywhere…he's….everywhere…" The thief muttered, visibly shuddering before glancing around quickly then focusing his unseeing gaze to the floor.

"'He?' Wait…what about 'she?'" Murray gently pressed.

"She's…she's…everywhere too…." The raccoon trailed off, closing his eyes and sinking to the floor.

* * *

"Bentley. C'mon, man…what do we do? He hasn't moved from that spot on the floor for days! He's so skinny that I can see right through him, and not even _The Murray_ can't get him to speak a single word!"

"I've been doing some research. I figured something out from the signs he's been showing…"

"Signs? You mean like the mindless raging, the obvious paranoia, the scary nightmares, insomnia, staring off into space, I could go on…"

"….uhh…"

"What? I pay attention!"

"Yes, _ahem_, well you hit the nail on the head. I believe that he may have some form of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder."

"PTSD? Like, shell-shocked war heroes have? Yeah, I can see where you're coming from with that. When you take his childhood into account, all these years he's been surprisingly levelheaded."

"Which is why I came to the conclusion that he held it all in. And when he abruptly started having these…bad dreams, that triggered something inside him—and I believe all that pent up emotion may be too much for him to control."

"But Bentley… you know, under all that, you can tell that Sly's…uh…"

"He's what?"

"We-_eellll_, kinda…y'know….scared?"

"….Ah?"

"It may just be me! I could see _something_ in his eyes…I don't think I've ever seen him make that look in my life."

"Until we can get to the root of those dreams he's been having, find some way to appease them somehow—we can't do anything. Talking won't work, and I know if he won't speak to us or Carmelita he won't to anyone else."

"Okay, you're the one who thinks awesome, Bentley."

"I know it seems painstaking, but we just have to hope with time this gets better…"


End file.
